Literature and Poetry, Philosophy and Politics, Melancholy and Disquiet

Saturday, February 19, 2011

the infrarealist manifesto

— Galaxies of love are appearing in the palms of our hands

— Poets, let down your hair (if you have any)— Burn your nonsense and start loving until you come up with priceless poems— We don’t want kinetic paintings but enormous kinetic sunsets— Horses running 500 kilometers an hour— Squirrels of fire hopping through trees of fire— A bet to see who blinks first, between the nerve and the sleeping pill.

— The death of the swan, the swan song, the last song of the black swan, IS NOT in the Bolshoi but in the intolerable pain and beauty of the streets.— A rainbow that starts in a grindhouse theater and ends in a factory on strike.— May amnesia never kiss us on the mouth. May it never kiss us.— We dreamed of utopia and woke up screaming.— A poor lonely cowboy that comes back home, what a wonder